


The Perfect Gentleman

by Experimental



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Backyard Poultry, Bad Decisions, Bad Puns, Birthday Presents, Emil Means Well, Exclamation Marks!!!, F/F, Gallo Humor, It's Emil Style!, M/M, Overprotective Michele
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experimental/pseuds/Experimental
Summary: That time Emil convinced Michele to entrust him with the Very Important Mission of procuring the perfect birthday surprise for Sara, and how she barely escaped with her shins.





	The Perfect Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> For those playing the home game, the roller rink this story starts out on is the outdoor Gruppo Pattinatori in Villa Comunale Park situated on Naples's Lungomare waterfront promenade. 
> 
> In my head, Michele and Sara deserve a fight-free indoor roller rink birthday party with pizza and a mirror ball and all their friends rollerskating in their respective styles together to ELO's "All Over The World", but I couldn't come up with better words for that, so this decidedly less beautiful story will have to suffice.
> 
> _Tanti auguri, Sara e Michele!_

It was supposed to be a relaxing week's vacation, sight-seeing and soaking up the Neapolitan sun and getting to know the rest of the Crispinos at their family estate.

And so it was—until toward the end of the second day in. The four of them were enjoying a leisurely evening of rollerskating by the bay, when something happened to set Michele off, and then before Emil and Mila knew it he and Sara were having a full-blown public argument. On the roller rink. In Neapolitan dialect. At least the two of them assumed it was in dialect, because for all the strides Mila and Emil had made on their Italian, they couldn't understand much of any of it. Which was probably how the siblings wanted it.

“I'm just gonna take a wild guess it has something to do with those guys from a few minutes ago,” Mila said as she and Emil stood awkwardly watching from the sidelines.

“What guys?” If Emil were honest, he hadn't been paying much attention to anyone or anything besides Michele and his own tricks. This was what he got for showing off, missing out on the action around him.

But Mila shrugged. “As far as I could tell, they were just fans trying to get a picture and tell Sara how much they liked her skating. But they were men, so—well, you know Mickey.”

Yes, they knew Mickey. No one could quite clear out a roller rink like Michele on the warpath. And Sara wasn't helping matters much, either. Knowing Michele, he meant well, doing what he thought was his God-given big-brotherly duty (in Michele's own mind, he was ever a knight in shining armor).

But Sara was having none of it tonight, tossing back milk-curdling insults that even made Mila and Emil, with their limited ability to follow along, wince. Some onlookers were trying not to laugh too obviously, and at least one was filming the argument on her phone. Mila and Emil exchanged worried glances, knowing one or both of them should step in and soon, but fearing the blowback they would probably receive when they did.

Thankfully, before they had to flip a coin or anything, Sara and Michele broke it up themselves, skating off in opposite directions with their noses in the air and a few last suggestions for what the other could go do with themselves thrown over their shoulders like grenades.

“Guess we'd better go smooth things over,” Emil sighed. “Yep,” Mila sighed. And they trailed after their respective Crispinos, already mentally preparing themselves to be the patient sounding boards they were so used to being.

It worked, though, which was really all that mattered—plus, Michele was more receptive to any sort of physical affection after his fights with Sara, so Emil couldn't exactly complain—and by the next morning things were back to normal. The mood around the kitchen table and coffees was light as the four planned their activities for the day, as if no fight had ever taken place.

But when Mila and Sara went out to the chicken coop to gather breakfast, Michele pulled Emil aside.

“Don't breathe a word to my sister about this,” he said under his breath, like Sara was really going to hear him out in the garden over morning birdsong and her conversation with Mila. “But, as you know, our birthday's coming up in a few days, and after last night, I've been thinking maybe it's time I caved and got Sara a companion. You know, one that can protect her from men with bad intentions when I'm not around.”

“I think Mila's pretty much got that covered, don't you?” Emil said. “Didn't she beat up her last boyfriend? Although, he is a hockey player so that was probably just another day for him.” Not to mention, Sara was perfectly capable of fending for herself, but every time Emil tried to remind Michele of that, Michele sort of shut down.

Now he just stared at Emil like he'd swallowed a bug. “I'm not talking about Mila. I'm talking about an _animal_ companion! Obviously. Something that can be there for Sara even when Mila isn't.”

And Michele brought out his phone for corroboration.

“So, I've been asking around,” he said as he thumbed through his text message threads one by one, “and Seung-gil says I should definitely get her a dog, something real meaty and loyal, like an Akita or a Rottweiler, but then Plisetsky said a cat can be just as fiercely protective of its human with the added bonus of not needing walks or baths—”

“Or taking up as much space.” Emil could just picture petite Sara sharing a couch with a dog as big as she was. What he couldn't picture was Michele being OK with that. “Wait. Did you get all these responses just since last night?” That would explain why Michele's phone had kept Emil from getting to sleep. “I thought all those notifications were about the video.”

Michele blinked. “What video?”

He seemed in such a good mood this morning, Emil definitely didn't want to ruin it by mentioning footage of his and Sara's argument last night was already racking up quite the views on social media. “Never mind. You were saying?”

“Er, yeah.” Michele reluctantly let the other matter go, looked at the next message thread, and blushed. “I made the mistake of asking Giacometti what he thought 'woman's best friend' would be, and that smart-ass sent me a link for something I will not mention because I refuse to even entertain it in the same thought as my precious Sara. But once I clarified what I meant, he also suggested I get her a cat. At least, I think he did, unless he was just making another crude joke.”

“So far cats are winning.”

“Yeah, but Victor and Yuuri both emphatically said dog, with like a billion exclamation points, so now it's cat: two; dog: three, give or take a thousand.”

He seemed to be waiting for Emil to weigh in. It was a lot of pressure. “Did you get any other responses?”

“Just from Phichit, but I'm not getting Sara a hamster. She's turning twenty-three, not thirteen. Georgi said whatever I get her is just going to end up breaking her heart, which was less than helpful. Honestly, I don't know why he even bothered replying if that was all he was going to say.”

“Well, there you go, then.” It seemed to Emil that if Sara wanted a pet, the decision ought to be hers to make. But if he knew Michele, he wasn't going to let this crazy idea go so easy. Emil shrugged. “The consensus seems to be to go with a dog.”

“Yeah, except there was this one time when we were little Sara got knocked over by an over-zealous Beagle and it kind of scarred her for life.”

Something about that didn't ring exactly true when it hit Emil's ear. “Didn't you tell me that story once before? Except, the way I remember it, _you_ were the one who got knocked over—”

“Semantics, Nekola.” (Emil was pretty sure that wasn't what semantics were, but he wasn't going to argue.) “I'm not saying a dog is off the table. But _I'm_ going to be this thing's uncle, whatever it is,” Michele said, naturally having thought of an excuse for every angle, “so if I'm going to have to take care of it in Sara's absence, it should be something I'm comfortable with, too. Right?”

So just don't get her a Beagle, Emil thought. “Okay, so why not a cat?”

“Sara's allergic to cat dander.”

“You could have mentioned that before. We could have scratched off cats at the outset.”

“I said she's _allergic,_ I didn't say she hates cats.”

“Why don't you ask Mila what she thinks.” She might just convince Michele to see sense and nix the whole thing. “She knows what Sara would like better than just about anyone. Besides you, of course,” Emil was quick to add.

“No way. I want this to be a surprise and I can't take the risk she might unintentionally blab.”

This was getting nowhere fast. At last, Emil had to reach across the table, and take Michele's hands (and his phone) in his own steadfast grip. “Mickey. Do you trust me to look out for Sara's interests like she was my own sister?”

It was clear from the look on Michele's face that that was asking a lot. Sometimes Emil could swear Michele _still_ thought he had romantic designs on Sara, despite Emil's repeated demonstrations to the contrary. “I guess,” he mumbled.

“Then allow me handle this matter myself, okay? If it means so much to you that Sara has a companion to guard her and keep her safe from the unwanted advances of men, then let _me_ find a non-Beagle, hypoallergenic, super-protective best animal friend for her for you. That way _you_ can stop stressing out about this and just enjoy this time with your family like you're supposed to.”

“You would do that for Sara?” Michele said, his eyes shiny with gratitude.

He was just so adorable like that, Emil had to reach out and give his shoulder a squeeze. “I would do that for Sara— _and_ for you, Mickey. Don't forget, it's your birthday, too! So? Do we have a deal?”

* * *

It took some sweet-talking, and quite a lot of reassuring that he wasn't going to do anything too "extreme", but Emil managed to convince Michele that he was worthy of being entrusted with this super-critical mission. No matter what, he vowed, he would not let his two best friends down.

Then the detective work began. He asked other family members their opinions, trying to get a sense of whether Sara would be more of a cat or dog person. The Crispinos had taken an instant liking to Emil (even if some of the older generation were still in denial about sleeping arrangements), so he ended up hearing more stories in way more detail about Sara and Michele's childhood than he figured either of them would like. But none of those stories helped him narrow down his options. Quite the opposite. Sara seemed to have an abiding love for all animals, but Emil couldn't afford a horse, nor did he think Michele would ever forgive him if he presented Sara with a birthday goldfish, so the search continued.

Next Emil thought he'd do best to just go straight to the source. So he asked Sara herself. Not outright, of course. He tried to coax out her feelings on the matter by way of the sliest hypotheticals he could think of. He was fairly confident that Sara hadn't caught on to what he was really up to, too, though Michele came close to blowing it for him a few times with his not-so-sly hints for Emil to shut up.

But Sara's answers to his vague questions were too vague to be of much use. So Emil started scouring the local community boards and chatting up the neighbors.

And that was when destiny struck. This must be it! he thought the moment he laid eyes on it. A creature that fit all Michele's criteria to a tee, with a noble bearing worthy of Sara's beauty and passionate spirit—yes, Emil would have even gone so far as to call it the perfect gentleman of the animal kingdom!

So, feeling rather proud of himself—and definitely not too preemptively patting himself on the back for how pleased Mickey would be with the job he had done—Emil arranged for the delivery to be made late on the night before Sara and Michele's birthday, when everyone would be too busy laughing over wine and dessert to think anything of him slipping away for a few minutes.

* * *

He might have celebrated his victory a little too hard. And early. Emil and Michele were both awoken the next morning, late, by the girls' screams below their bedroom window.

Of course, hearing Sara in distress got Michele out of bed and into last night's pants faster than a gunshot.

Spurred awake by Michele's yelling all through the house for Sara to wait for him and that he was coming to rescue her, Emil dragged himself out of bed and into some clothes. He made it down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, in time to hear Sara and Mila really letting Michele have it.

“What's wrong with you, Mickey!” Mila was saying. “You trying to get us both injured right before the start of the season?”

“This your idea of a joke?” said Sara, then something colorful in Italian, probably about what Mickey could expect to have happen to certain parts of him if it was.

“Why do you both just assume this is my fault?” Michele shouted back, backed up against the kitchen table. “I don't even know what it is I'm getting blamed for!”

“You really telling me you don't know anything about the monster cock in our backyard?!” said Sara, pointing out the kitchen door.

Emil watched as Michele went from curious and confused to red as a boiling lobster. He shook all over and his hands balled into fists, and when he finally stalked out the door to confront the monstrosity, it was with a vengeful cry of “ _Giacometti!_ ”

Less than a minute later, he came running back into the kitchen, squealing and guarding his backside. “The hell did that come from?!”

“Yeah. That's what we'd like to know,” said Sara. Mila crossed her arms over her chest like she was going to start busting heads if she didn't get some answers.

Then all eyes finally turned to Emil.

Michele was already accusing him with his silent, furious glare, awaiting his explanation, and it wouldn't be long before the other two caught on and joined in. So Emil did what came naturally to him.

“Happy birthday, Sara~!” he beamed, floating over, arms outstretched for a hug.

He never quite got there.

“Wait.” Sara sidestepped him. “Wha'd'you mean, 'Happy birthday'? _Emil~_ ” Damn but she could glare daggers with even deadlier accuracy than her brother. “Are you responsible for this?”

“I told you to get her a puppy!” said Michele. “Or a kitten! Not the Devil incarnate!”

“Mickey!” Sara chastened. “I don't need you buying me a pet!”

“He's not a devil,” Emil said at the same time. “I think he's actually kind of cute.”

Upon which all three rounded on him.

“ _Cute?!_ ”

“Are you kidding me? That thing tried to take my eye out!”

“Sure, cute as a harpy in stiletto heels!”

“I saw the evil intent in its eyes. It wants my soul! That thing's the goddamned Antichrist!”

“I'm gonna have bruises where it kicked me!”

“If it's not possessed, I don't know what is!”

“Coulda broken my fibula if it wanted to! It's a career killer, is what it is!”

But Emil was undeterred. “Whoa. Guys. He's not possessed. He's just acting exactly how he's supposed to. Come on. I'll show you.”

And he led the way out back to the chicken run. Not that any of the other three were brave enough to follow very closely behind him.

The so-called monster cock was just waiting for them to return—all two kilos of him. He was a rusty color with black spangles, a perpetually offended look in his big dark eyes, and a V-comb that stuck up like two bright-red devil horns with a little tuft of orange feathers behind it. He wasn't a very large rooster by any account, mostly legs and feathers, but he made up for it by squaring his shoulders and mumbling to himself like a tough guy as he paced back and forth between them and the hens beyond.

Emil was smitten from the get-go.

“There's my handsome little man,” he cooed to the rooster when he got close. “Guys, meet Sir Galahad. Get it?  _Gallo-_ had?”

“Galahad?” Mila muttered in horror. “More like Mordred. Or Lucifer.”

“Definitely Lucifer,” Sara agreed as she watched the rooster with distrust.

Sir Galahad must have caught that look and seen through it down into her very soul, because after making direct eye contact with Sara, he flapped his wings like he was going to take off for outer space, whipped his head back, and let loose a crow loud enough to wake the dead. So majestic. Emil's heart swelled with pride.

“This?” said Michele. “This is what you thought would be the perfect companion for my Sara?”

“Of course!” said Emil. “There's no pesky cat dander to worry about, he's not a Beagle, and best of all, he won't let anyone he doesn't approve of go near his girls! That's what the guy down the street who was getting rid of him told me, anyway. When I heard that, I knew he'd be perfect for the job of defending Sara's honor. I certainly can't imagine any fans being crazy enough to try and get past _him_. Can you, Mickey?”

“And the part about getting rid of him didn't raise any red flags?” Michele grumbled.

Sir Galahad grumbled something too. No one knew what he meant by it, but it sounded eerily like he was trying to copy Michele.

“You don't honestly expect me to bond with this thing?” Sara said. And something about her voice or the way she asked the question seemed to set Sir Galahad off. Without warning, he leaped feet-first in her direction, hackle feathers all fanned out, darting forwards and backwards spastically, looking for any bare toes to pick at.

Sara yelped. “I don't think he sees me as one of his girls, Emil!” she said as she was herded behind Mila. Who was just trying her best to stay out of the way. And wishing she had brought a broom.

“He just needs some training, is all,” Emil was sure of it. He squatted down and Sir Galahad came dancing over to him. Then stood proud and still while Emil petted his chest feathers. “I'm sure you'll find him to be a super-friendly little guy—once he gets used to you.”

“What he needs is an exorcist,” Michele muttered. “Or a good marinade,” Mila did him one better.

“Once he _gets used to_ me? Nah-uh.” That was where Sara put her foot down. “We are _not_ keeping that demon.”

“Agreed,” said Michele with a decisive nod.

But that was not going to be enough to get him out of the hot seat. “And you and I need to have a serious discussion, Mickey,” Sara rounded on him, “about where you got this notion that it would be a good idea to _surprise_ me with a pet on my birthday! Don't you think that's the sort of big, life-changing decision that you should at least _ask_ me about first?”

“But, but Emil tried to ask you,” Michele whined (and it figured that _now_ he thought Emil's hypotheticals were a good idea).

But Sara wouldn't hear any excuses. “What, did you think you and Emil would just know the perfect pet for me when you saw it, without getting any input on the matter from me? Did you even bother to consider that maybe I didn't want some living thing I'd have to take care of foisted on me right now?”

“Fine!” Michele was back to yelling. “Maybe I should just stop trying to look out for you and your safety like a big brother is supposed to do, see if I care what happens to you!”

“Maybe you should stop being so paranoid about me being under attack every time I go out and try to talk to people like a normal human being! I already have one loud, overprotective cock to deal with, what made you think I'd want two?!”

“I thought I made it clear the rooster wasn't my idea! You don't want a pet, just say you don't want a pet!”

“Well, maybe I _do_! Maybe I've been thinking about it for a while, but maybe I just want to make my own damn decisions, _on_ my own, damn it!”

“Well, maybe we should just go down and look at pets together, and if you see anything that catches your fancy, it can be my birthday present to you, no questions asked!”

“Fine!” Sara huffed.

“It's settled, then!” Michele puffed. “Wanna go after breakfast?”

“Nothing wrong with having a look. Mila?”

"You mean spend the morning knee-deep in kitters and doggos with my favorite birthday girl?" She snorted. “Like you even need to ask!” One of these days those two were going to give her whiplash, though, the way they shifted gears. “But we might have to leave Emil here with his new boyfriend.”

“He does seem rather attached, doesn't he?” said Sara.

“I don't know what he sees in that little terror,” said Michele, who was definitely not jealous.

Unnoticed by him, Sara and Mila just looked at each other and shook their heads.

In the meantime, Emil had gone and picked Sir Galahad up. Not only was the rooster remarkably calm about it, he made purring noises in his chest and leaned his head in toward Emil's shoulder. “Awwww~ Look, he's a hugger!” Sir Galahad's virtues were grossly under-appreciated, as far as Emil could see. He was shaping up to be a real charmer—a knight in shining feathers! “You know what else is nice about having a rooster around: They're supposed to bring good luck. And one can always use a little extra luck on their birthday, right, guys? . . . Guys?”

But by this time the other three were already in the process of high-tailing it back to the house. It was probably for the best that Emil couldn't hear them conferring with one another about what paired well with _pollo alla cacciatora_.

 


End file.
